


Weakness

by sophieofwinterfell



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, F/M, Multi, Other, Robbaery - Freeform, sansaery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-13
Updated: 2016-10-21
Packaged: 2018-08-22 04:40:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8273186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophieofwinterfell/pseuds/sophieofwinterfell
Summary: Margaery was definitely not the kind of woman that let her feelings get the best of her.That was, until the Starks crossed her way.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is not only my first Robbaery fanfic, but also my first ASoIaF fanfic ever, so please have mercy on my soul. I know it's not perfect and that a lot of things don't match with certain events in canon, but that is not the purpose of this fanfic. The purpose is that you enjoy the cuteness that Robb and Margaery are.  
> Also, my native language is not english, so if there are grammar and/or spelling mistakes, please forgive me. I've tried to do my best, but there will always be little things that will escape my knowledge.  
> Enjoy! And please, leave your opinions! Xx

Margaery was definitely _not_ the kind of woman that let her feelings get the best of her. She considered herself to have a good heart, but having seen the things she had during her short marriage to Renly and since arriving to King's Landing, her instinct of self-preservation was stronger than ever. She knew that, in order to survive, sacrifices should be made and feelings should be put aside; having her head cool and her goals clear was essential.

However, there was something about the Starks that stirred something deep inside her, that for moments, made her doubt her principles and desires.

She had felt it first when Lady Catelyn Stark had arrived at Renly's camp. Margaery was not a stranger to strong women; her lady grandmother Olenna had more guts than any lord of Highgarden, and more wits than her own father, so the fact that lady Catelyn had dared to call them summer knights (as much as they were) and had mocked her brother for playing wars should have not surprised her. It _had_ surprised her though, especially knowing her aunt Lynesse's story. Catelyn Stark had been born a Southron woman, and the fact that she had not only survived the cold and inhospitable North but had also managed to adapt enough to be sent as an emissary in times of war was impressive.

“You must have missed it, my lady,” Margaery had said to her in that sweet and polite way she was taught. It had been during Renly's feast, the only opportunity she'd had to talk to the woman alone. “The South, I mean.”

Catelyn had outlined a melancholic smile. “I thought I did,” she had confessed, almost as if she was having the realisation right there. “But the more I think about it, the more I believe my body as much as my heart belong in the North now.”

Margaery had been taken aback, to say the least. In those few sentences, the lady Catelyn had showed sadness for the first time since arriving to the camp. _She must have truly loved her deceased husband_ , she had thought, watching the woman's eyes become absent, probably reminiscing happier and simpler times.

“The warmth is nice all the same,” lady Catelyn had added later, composing herself.

After that, they had exchanged no more words.

That brief conversation had left an impression on Margaery. She was a realist, and she did what it was needed to be done. If she had to invite her own brother into bed so her husband could put a child in her, then she would do it. If she had to pretend to enjoy massacring animals and torturing people to become Queen, then so be it. Marriage was not something she romanticised. Few were the marriages that worked, even fewer those that shared pure, romantic love. She had heard stories of those, but had not actually seen any; infatuation, lust, some kind of connection or attraction, yes. Love, true love? Not so much. More often than not, Margaery believed love did not exist in that way, not in any other form that was not family love.

Catelyn Stark evidently loved her children, that was clear: she was doing the impossible for them, including following her son to war and making alliances with people she didn't trust in order to rescue her daughters. But she had loved her husband too, truly loved him, even if she was not meant to originally marry him -even if he was dead now. She still loved him.

The former Lady of Winterfell had made Margaery doubt that skeptical view of love. However, that had been it, only doubts. Renly had died shortly after that, and circumstances had made her forget about lady Catelyn and her situation. After all, her father was so keen on making her Queen that he had not wasted any time to form new alliances and arrange a new betrothal for her. She needed to look after her heartbroken brother and prepare herself for a new challenge.

When Margaery had arrived to King's Landing with empty and overly acted words of love and admiration for King Joffrey and had first seen Sansa Stark, she was reminded of lady Catelyn again. The girl took after her, with the same high-cheekbones, blue eyes and thick auburn hair the Tullys were known for. She had felt happy at the sight of the girl physically healthy: it set a good reference on her soon-to-be-husband, the fact that he had not harmed her. However, it did not take Margaery long to realise Sansa was actually a little frightened and broken bird under that blind devotion she faked towards the King.

Once again, Margaery found herself admiring a Stark. Sansa was younger than she was and still obviously a hopeless dreamer, but she had managed to appear harmless in the eyes of none other than Cersei Lannister. That certainly required cunning and cold blood.

Margaery could not even begin to imagine the suffering the girl had had to go through, but she got a clear idea when Sansa told her some of the things Joffrey had done to her, once she was absolutely certain Margaery could be trusted and would not tell anyone about how Sansa's faith still remained in her brother Robb.

It was true that Margaery had first become close to Sansa with a purpose; that purpose being to gather information about her betrothed. But soon enough, the young woman started to care for the Northern girl. She was sweet, and kind, and in spite of everything that had happened to her, still remained a classy lady. They had similiar interests, so it was easy for them to bond over embroidery and music, even if she knew Sansa was constantly worried about her brother, always trying to find out news about the battles he was fighting. Margaery tried to distract her with different activities, to keep her as far from Joffrey as possible, even if it meant _she_ had to be the one spending time with him instead. Sansa seemed to be grateful and to genuinely like her, so she quickly began to trust her and tell her stories about her siblings and what it was like to grow up in a place like Winterfell.

“I was a stupid girl,” Sansa said once, in a particular bad day where she had heard her brother had been shot by an arrow. They were not certain if he was still alive, but the Lannisters were already spreading that he was not, to discourage more uprisings and future allies. “I was a stupid girl with stupid dreams… I used to hate it all -Winterfell, the austerity, the cold; even my sister Arya for being so wild… Now, I'd give anything to go back.”

Margaery usually remained neutral at comments of hers such as this, conscious of how even the walls had ears in the Red Keep. This time, however, Sansa looked so unhappy that, after making sure no one was around to hear, Margaery squeezed her hand and gave her a stern look.

“You must be strong, Sansa,” she told her, determinedly. “Your mother and your brother are doing everything they can to get you back. You have to trust them.”

“Joffrey will never let me go!” the girl cried, desperatedly. “Robb has ser Jaime and Joffrey still refuses to exchange him for me! If Cersei has not convinced him yet, nothing will!”

“Dearest Sansa,” Margaery said, still calm and smiling. “Not everything is diplomacy, I'm afraid. Your brother is called The Young Wolf, even King Joffrey fears him, and now that he's allied with Stannis, he's got even more chances at winning this war.”

Sansa relaxed a bit after Margaery's words, and her sobs eventually stopped. They stayed in silence afterwards, as if the conversation never happened, both apparently concentrated on their needlework.

“What will happen to you?” Sansa whispered after a while, giving her a look full of concern. “Robb won't hurt you when I tell him how good of a friend you have been to me, but Stannis...” she stopped, and furrowed her brows. “He's cruel, and you will be Queen soon. What if he treats you the way the Lannisters treated Elia Martell?”

“Do not stress yourself over me, little bird,” Margaery said, her smile cheerful and nonchalant. “My family always finds a way out.”

Margaery's fake confidence seemed to convince Sansa, and the girl smiled at her, more at peace, before continuing with her work. When her eyes were not longer on her, Margaery let her expression fall and the fear invade her. Her mind went over possible scenarios and, after a particular bloody one that made her hands shake enough to pinch herself with her needle, she snapped out of it and frowned, decidedly.

She was not going to be the next Elia Martell. She refused.

 

***  


“Grandmother, we need to think of something,” Margaery said as soon as they were alone in the old woman's chambers. She even made her ladies wait outside so she could speak to her sincerely and without any interruptions; that was how unsettled the situation had her feeling.

“It is always good to be one step ahead of your enemies, my dear, I agree,” lady Olenna said, raising an eyebrow ever-so-slightly. “But may I ask why are you suddenly so eager to plot?”

“The Young Wolf and Stannis Baratheon have joined forces,” the girl replied, rather impatiently. She knew well enough her grandmother was aware of what was happening, much more aware than she was. “They keep advancing towards King's Landing and the Lannisters are either entrenched here without the people's support or being butchered at the battlefield.”

“Robb Stark got shot by an arrow,” the old woman said, as calm as ever. “He could be dead for all we know. That is what your future husband and his mother keep telling the world.”

There was an almost imperceptible smile dancing on her wrinkled lips, as if she was mocking Cersei's techniques. Margaery felt an uneasy sensation in the pit of her stomach.

“He is not dead. He cannot be.”

Olenna's eyebrow went higher, and this time her surprise was noticeable.

“Are you certain or are you hoping?”

“We must think of something, Grandmother.” Margaery ignored the question, mainly because she did not know the answer herself. “What if Robb Stark and Stannis Baratheon take King's Landing?”

“They will kill the Lannisters and harm those who have brought death to their families. You have done no such thing, my dear.”

“The wedding is only a moon away! If Stannis doesn't kill me for being the widow of his traitor brother, he will for being the usurper's wife. _Once again_.”

There was a silence between them in which Margaery's ragged breath was the only sound. That was what made her notice how worked up she actually was, and she mentally kicked herself. Her grandmother had taught her that nothing should ever destabilize her, that she should stay calm and cold in every situation. It was a bad thing she was forgetting those lessons in front of none other than the Queen of Thorns.

“Forgive me,” the girl continued, her mask of solemnity back, same as her perfect posture, with her back straight and her hands carefully resting on her skirts. “I am a Tyrell of Highgarden, and I should not be afraid.”

“No, my sweetling,” lady Olenna said, her smile sharp and sincere for the first time. “It's because you are a Tyrell of Highgarden that you are afraid. And it is a good thing that you are, for fear is what makes us react. I am glad you are reacting, child, and not playing the fool like your father is…” she shook her head in clear resignation. “Gods know we would be in an entirely different situation if he would have listened to me.”

“So you believe it is possible for Stannis to take the throne?” Margaery asked, her heart racing again.

“With the North and the Riverlands by his side? Most definitely,” the woman answered calmly. “Robb Stark is a boy, but a boy with an army and good leadership skills. He listens to his mother, and she is no naïve hag… As cold as Stannis is, he is a determined man, and somehow has convinced Renly's men the Lannisters are to blame for his murder. They _will_ win.”

“Then we need to think of something!” Margaery repeated, not as desperated as before, but anxious again. “I don't want to end like Elia Martell, Grandmother, I-”

“I would never, _ever_ let that happen to you,” lady Olenna interrupted her sharply. She reached for her granddaughter's hand and squeezed it tightly, giving her a dead serious look. “Elia Martell didn't have _me_ as her grandmother.”

Margaery felt like breathing for the first time since that conversation with Sansa. She trusted her grandmother more than anyone in the world.

“Do you already have a plan?” she asked quietly, feeling calm now.

“Oh yes,” the old woman said. “And you are part of it, my little rose.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the nice and encouraging comments about last chapter! It made me really happy and excited about writing more. I hope you enjoy this one as well. Tell me what you think! Xx

Margaery admired her grandmother more than anyone in the world. She loved her even more than she loved her lady mother, for she was the woman that had taught her the way to survive. Despite being strict, overbearing, ambitious, and even cruel sometimes, Olenna had the best of interests in her impenetrable heart. Besides, she was the only one that truly cared for Margaery and saw her as more than just a way to tighten bonds and alliances between powerful families. She was not naïve enough to believe Olenna was not interested in that as well, but unlike her father who only saw her as piece in the game, and her mother who only cared about her beauty, her grandmother saw something else in her, and she liked that.

Margaery had never doubted her grandmother before, for she knew she saw things only the wisdom that came with age showed. However, as she found herself in the middle of the woods just outside King's Landing to deliver Sansa Stark to her family, with only her brother Loras and another Tyrell soldier as protection, Margaery was starting to believe her grandmother had lost her sanity.

“You want me to help Sansa Stark escape?” Margaery had asked Olenna, when she had told her the plan. Her surprise had only been surpassed by her confusion.

“Not only that,” Olenna had answered. “You need to be the one that delivers her to her family.”

“Why can't we get some men we trust to do it?”

“No, it has to be you. Do you hear me, child?” Olenna had noticed her uncertainty and had grabbed her chin to make her look at her. The severity in her grandmother's eyes had made her shiver. “It is essential that you deliver Sansa Stark to the Young Wolf. Do you understand?”

The young woman still did not understand _why_ she had to be the one to do it, but she had said yes.

Part of her welcomed the thrill of being in the dark, in danger, risking her own neck in such an exposed way she never got to do at court. She was glad she was helping her friend as well -Sansa deserved to be happy, and to be reunited with her loved ones after so much suffering. Nonetheless, the fear was still there. Throughout the whole escape from the Red Keep, Margaery had been expecting Joffrey's men to show up and slit their throats right there. She was still expecting it even there in the woods, and away from the castle and Joffrey's claws. It was beyond her knowledge how four people had managed to escape so easily from such a guarded place (especially her and Sansa, who were constantly being watched closely by Cersei), but Margaery was sure Varys had something to do with it.

So there they were, freezing late at night in the forest, waiting for the Stark men to show up and take Sansa.

They had arrived earlier than needed because the escape had turned out easier than expected, so they waited for a long time. The mere act of waiting was something that bothered Margaery, and she was getting a bit restless at the perspective of meeting a new Stark, for she did not know what to expect. But Sansa particularly had been in a state of nervousness and anxiety since the moment she had told her what was happening.

“What if they do not come?” Sansa asked, her pretty face disorted by fear. It was not the first time she asked something like that. The poor girl was terrified of getting her hopes up for nothing. “What if they think this is a trick and don't come to get me?”

“This is not a trick,” Loras answered before Margaery could. “It wouldn't be convenient for any of the parts to be a trick.”

“But what if Robb thinks it's too dangerous?” Sansa's cheeks became paler than ever. “What if he- what if he thinks I'm not worth the risk and leaves me here?”

“Little bird,” Margaery began sweetly, while she grabbed her cold hands. “I know not your brother personally, but if anything of what you have told me about him is true, then he will come for you. He will come for you and will make sure you are never in danger again.”

“She is right, Sansa.”

Margaery became absolutely frozen at that new and unrecognisable voice, and then so many things happened at the same time that she could only stay that way.

Sansa jumped ridiculously and let out a shriek. Loras drew his sword and quickly went to stand near his sister, the other knight that came with them doing the same with Sansa. The sound of leaves crunching, branches snapping and footsteps coming were suddenly in the air. Margaery saw figures moving from behind the trees, and could even make out flashes of steel swords, shining through the darkness of the woods. But all of that seemed nothing compared to the giant monster that appeared through the bushes and went directly to her.

The stories regarding Robb Stark and his direwolf were thousands. Some said he rode into battle on the back of that same giant direwolf she was staring at, that he could turn into a wolf himself whenever he wanted to. After being shot by an arrow and surviving, some even went as far to say he could not be killed. Margaery always thought those rumors were just that, rumors. Silly stories that were encouraged by the man himself to seem more threateaning, so people could forget he was just a boy. However, now that she was staring right into the beast's yellow eyes, with its hot breath that smelled of blood crashing against her face and his enormous jaws just an inch away from her eyes, Margaery was more drawn to believe the stories were true.

At least some of them.

By the corner of her eye, as she did not dare to look away from the wolf, Margaery saw a figure coming out of the shadows. She could not see the person well, but Sansa's cry of happiness confirmed that her assumptions were right. Her brother was there, and Sansa pushed the Tyrell man away to get to him and surround him with her arms.

“Robb! Oh, Robb, you came!” the girl cried in relief, her sobs loud. “I am so happy to see you!”

“Sansa,” he said in return, hugging her back. He was not crying -he probably wanted to look strong in front of his men, but Margaery noticed the same relief and emotion in his voice in just that simple name. “Sister, are you alright?”

“I am well, I'm-” she stopped herself and stayed silent for a moment, taking a deep breath, but the attempt to calm down was futile, and she broke out crying. “I have been through so much, the Lannisters- the Lannisters are monsters. J-Joffrey, Cersei, they-” she could not finish, for her tears did not let her.

For a short but sad and slightly depressing moment, all that could be heard were Sansa's sobs. No one said a thing, and Margaery moved her head for a second to observe them. Sansa was being held by his brother, whose face Margaery could not see because of the dark. He was whispering things to her, probably to calm her down and reassure her, but her trained eye noticed he was slightly shaking too.

Margaery's guarded heart broke a little at them. She could only imagine being separated from Loras, Willas and Garlan. From her grandmother, and her parents. She could only imagine the desperation to be reunited, the uncertainty of not knowing if that would ever happen, and the terror and pain if it did not. She could almost feel the stress coming in waves from the now Lord of Winterfell, evidently relieved a little because of the reunion with his sister. She could _see_ the pressure he was under, just from taking a quick look at her surroundings, full of his men, watching them with a mix of triumph, pity and impatience.

The sudden wetness in her cheek made her turn her head abruptly to the front again, only to be reminded of the large direwolf at her face, so close that her own nose bumped against his snout. She let out a yelp and instinctively gave a step back, which was something the wolf apparently did not approve of.

The animal took a step forward, and this time, she did not move a muscle and held its yellow gaze with boldness, making sure that boldness did not turn into arrogance. It was an odd and unique experience, to look into those eyes. Contrary to what everyone believed, this was not a domesticated pet -the creature was intelligent, had an attitude that showed it was loyal to Robb Stark because it chose to. There was something else about it too, although she was not sure exactly what.

The wolf took another step forward, leaving them as close as they were before she got startled. The animal was less meanicing this time, slower, almost asking for permission. It took her a second to understand it was _smelling_ her.

Margaery breathed out a smile, and a giggle came out from her lips later, as the wet snout felt weird against her skin and no longer terrifying.

“Grey Wind!”

Both Margaery and the so called Grey Wind turned their heads to where the voice had come from. She was utterly surprised when she realised everyone was looking at her interaction with the direwolf, even Sansa and Robb Stark, who had been the one to call him.

And for the first time since his appearence, Margaery could take a good look at him.

Tales of Northern men's looks were told in Highgarden. She had even asked her aunt Lynesse about it once. The Starks, particularly, were supposed to be dark-haired, with pale grey eyes and a certain roughness in their manners and physical appearence.

Robb Stark, however, certainly did not look like she had imagined.

The young man was tall and strong-built, and the way he carried himself with certainly gave his nobility away. He had the same thick red-brown hair as his mother's, and his blue eyes were the same shape as his sister's, making him look more Southerner than she was expecting. He did have traces from the North in him though, like the beard he had let grow in his face, and the hard, lean and handsome features that showed he was no longer a _child_ , as her grandmother had called him. His armour and furs definietly helped in that aspect, as they made him look more dangerous than a normal ten-and-six year old would look.

Margaery was pleasantly surprised, to say the least.

Robb Stark, on the other hand, did not look as pleased with her as she was with him. There was a frown on his handsome face, hardening his expression, and his blue eyes shone in distrust and even a little resentment.

“Grey Wind,” he repeated, his voice husky and more firm than last time.

It was a command, and the direwolf obeyed it, getting away from Margaery and placing himself next to his master, almost disappointed. Robb threw him a quick, odd look before giving his attention back to her.

He did not speak, so Margaery took the matter into her own hands. She caught Sansa's eyes pointedly, and the red-haired girl blushed, probably because she had forgotten her usually perfect manners.

“I'm so sorry!” Sansa exclaimed, startling her brother. “Margaery. May I introduce you to my brother Robb Stark, Lord of Winterfell and King in the North.”

“Your Grace,” she said, curtsying perfectly. Loras, next to her, repeated and did exactly the same.

“Robb, these are lady Margaery and ser Loras of House Tyrell.”

Robb bowed stiffly but said nothing. He gave them a fleeting look, his eyes lingering on Margaery a second longer than they did on Loras.

“I thank you for returning my sister Sansa to me,” he said, his strong accent distracting her a bit. “I hope you had no trouble sneaking out of the Red Keep, and that no one saw you.”

Margaery caught the threat hidden in his last words, which did not please her one bit, but still kept a smile on her face.

“We did not have any trouble, Your Grace,” she replied, sweetly. “And fear not, for if anyone would have seen us, we would not be speaking here right now, especially not Princess Sansa… But Your Grace is most kind for showing concern.” Robb Stark observed her expressionless. “As for bringing Princess Sansa here, you must not thank us, for we are only doing what is just. House Tyrell only wishes peace and prosperity for the Seven Kingdoms, and we believe King Stannis will contribute to that.”

“Your House has a strange way of showing that, lady Margaery,” Robb Stark finally said. “If I recall correctly, are you not betrothed to the usurper Joffrey?”

Some of his men laughed out loud, and the King in the North smirked. Loras, by her side, stilled, while Sansa gave Robb a nervous look.

Margaery, in spite of it all, remained impassive.

“My Lord Father has made mistakes, Your Grace, as many men before him and many more that will follow,” she began, slowly. “He only did what he thought was best for his House and his daughter, which at the moment was kneeling to who we thought was King Robert's true son. Now, we see we should have believed in your late father's claims, so we are trying to redeem ourselves and fix what we are able to. I am but a simple woman, doing my duty and praying the Gods to watch over me. I can only hope Your Grace will do the same when the time comes.”

There was a heavy silence after her words, in which Robb Stark did not tear his eyes apart from hers. He seemed to be looking straight into her soul, and she held his gaze defiantly and with all the bravery she could muster. There was something about him that made her uneasy, that made her insides churn in a weird way. He was intimidating, and so hard to read that she knew not what to expect or how to approach him. His walls were obviously up, and he certainly had interest in nothing but to win this war and fulfill the expectations the North had on him. If her Grandmother had sent her to seduce him (which she still did not know, because Olenna had said nothing when she'd asked her), she had been wrong for the first time in her life. Robb Stark would not fall for her pretty face, and even if she could make an impression on him, what could she possibly achieve in so little time, and surrounded by so many people that clearly did not trust her? Furthermore, he was promised to another girl. If she had thought the Stark honor was not so predominant in him because he looked like his mother, she had been wrong. His stoic posture and guarded eyes showed he would not break a promise, and he would certainly not do that because of her.

“A deal is a deal,” Robb finally said, his voice grave and loud enough so everyone could hear. He was talking to his men, not to her. “And House Tyrell have complied with their part. They have returned my sister, Princess Sansa of Winterfell, safely to me, and for that I am grateful. The North is grateful.”

The men nodded and whispered words of approval. Margaery was almost astonished at the respect they had for him, and how Robb Stark suddenly transformed into the image she had always had of a king. She had been married to one, was betrothed to another, and yet, this Northern man that didn't even claim the Iron Throne for himself was the one who deserved to be called King the most.

Margaery was so struck by this _man_ that it took her by surprise when she noticed he had come closer to her. Close enough that he could talk to her and not even Loras would hear.

“I will tell King Stannis to grant you and your family forgiveness,” he said, seriously. “I cannot assure you he will give it, but I shall do what I can. When we siege King's Landing, my troops shall not touch you, but every single Tyrell man and every house swore to you will have to yield and fight with us.”

“Consider it done, Your Grace,” she firmly said, not breaking his gaze. “You can trust me.”

Robb Stark smiled ironically and got even closer.

“I do not do such a thing, my lady,” he whispered in her ear; his Northern accent stronger than ever. “For I do not believe that you are _but a simple woman_ for a second.”

It took everything in Margaery not to lose her passive expression and composture when, after such actions, the King took her hand and kissed it softly, all whilst keeping his blue eyes on hers. Her skin burnt on the spot his lips were, and the tickling caused by his beard quickly travelled throughout her whole body. Every inch of her felt wobbly, but she was determined not to let it show.

 _Never let a man know he has an effect on you_ , her grandmother had told her, _unless you need him to believe it._

“You give me far too much credit, Your Grace,” she smiled softly, not giving anything away.

“Do I?” he said, letting go of her hand. His eyes seemed to be burning as much as his touch had done. “Roses have thorns. The most beautiful they are, the most dangerous turn out to be.”

“I am most flattered, Your Grace,” Margaery replied, slightly lowering her head in fake embarrassment, only to look at him through her long eyelashes. “You think I am beautiful?”

It took him a while to answer, clearly having been thrown off by her comeback and her attitude. It seemed to be the King in the North was not inmune to flirting after all. However, he quickly regained composture and bowed his head.

“My lady,” was all he said, before stepping back and nodding at her brother, who was as perplexed as he was anxious. “Ser Loras.”

Margaery and Loras curtsied, but Robb was already talking to Sansa and directing his squire to bring him his horse. The men, who had not been as interested in such exchange as Sansa and Loras had, quickly took that as a sign and began riding away.

“I have no words to express how thankful I am for what you have done for me, Margaery.” Sansa went to her while her brother got on his horse. The girl had tears in her eyes, but a big smile on her face; a smile Margaery had never seen on her before. “You saved me from Joffrey, protected me from him and cared for me when no one else in that horrid place would. And now, you are returning me to my family and helping my brother win this war. You have become my dearest friend. I owe you so much…”

“You owe me nothing, little bird,” Margaery smiled, taking her hands in hers.

Maybe it was the context, or the fact that she was tired of pretending, or simply the stress of the night that had gotten to her, but Margaery felt like crying. Sansa was so pure, and there were not many people that truly meant what they said, but she did, and it touched her heart the way she appreciated her. She would miss her.

“You deserve to be happy, and I'm only glad I could help you with that. Promise me you will leave all these bad memories behind, and be that kind and happy Sansa that I know.”

“I promise I will try,” she sobbed with a smile, that suddenly faded. “Will we ever see each other again?”

“I am sure we will, little bird.”

They hugged tightly, Sansa crying and Margaery trying hard not to, until Robb cleared his throat. The King was already on his horse, pretending not to look at them. After one last quick hug, Sansa walked away from Margaery and she was helped by her brother to climb the horse behind him.

“Send my regards to Lady Catelyn,” Margaery said.

“You've met my lady mother?” Robb Stark asked, for the first time, surprised.

“I have. We bonded easily, and I admire her greatly.”

He seemed to be at loss of words, clearly not expecting that. Margaery had to hide a smile while Sansa looked at him strangely.

“Are you coming, Your Grace?” one of his men shouted.

“Aye,” he nodded, before turning back to look down at her. “I wish you a safe return to King's Landing.”

“Thank you, Your Grace. Hopefully, next time we see each other, it will be under different circumstances.”

He did not reply, only gave her one last look of distrust before kicking his horse and riding away. Sansa waved goodbye until they both disappeared in the darkness of the trees. Grey Wind, the direwolf, who had been silently watching everything, touched with his snout that same hand of hers his master had kissed and licked it, before disappearing as fast as he had appeared the first time.


End file.
